A Collection of Puzzle Pieces
by xXCOMMANDERXx
Summary: John has lived with the world's only consulting detective for a long time now, and had gotten used to more than he was proud of, but one thing still amazed him; Sherlock spoke so MUCH, but he really SAID so little. And every once in a while, some little fact would come up, and John would add another piece of the puzzle that is Sherlock Holmes to his collection.


**A/N Trying not to give anything away here, but there's a song bit up ahead, and it would be great if you listened to the song ****_while _****you read that bit. It's called 'I Lived', by One Republic. Alright, read on!**

* * *

"Remind me again how you managed to drag me here?"

"You have your powers, I have mine."

"Don't be absurd John, people don't have _powers. _Abilities, yes."

"Killjoy."

As the cab the two were in neared the pub, John felt a strange pang of victory in his chest, and his lips formed a small smile. If Sherlock noticed, he didn't say anything.

"I still think this is a daft and tedious idea," the consulting detective commented irritably. "A friday night out, with friends, at the pub? How much more clichéd could you get?"

John rolled his eyes, adopting a tone that was usually found when a parent was explaining something to an especially stubborn child. "It's not a cliché Sherlock, it's a genuinely pleasant thing to do with a friday evening. Lestrade and his bunch have invited me several times now, and I had great fun, so I see no reason why-"

"Precisely John, they invited _you- _what could they possiblywant with _me_?"

John sighed.

"Lestrade told me that you were welcome as well, which led to a very annoyed Anderson-"

Sherlock smirked.

"-so I thought I would actually bring you along for once," the doctor concluded, with an air of finality, causing his flatmate to scowl and look out of the other window.

"Come on Sherlock, I'm not sending you to face off an army single-handedly, it's just a night at the pub!" John insisted. Sherlock mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like "I would have preferred the army," but John had the good sense not to comment. And just as he was about to threaten involving Mycroft somehow, an idea struck the ex-soldier.

"I know- think of it as an experiment!"

Sherlock gave him a skeptical look.

"What? I'm serious. You can observe, participate, do everything we do... Don't look at me like that, it could become useful one day!"

"Oh? Useful for what, may I ask?"

"What if you were trailing a suspect, and in order to follow him, you would need to blend into the crowd? There's nothing that attracts more attention than a guy sitting alone, idly, at the bar, ogling some random."

Sherlock frowned, evidently thinking it over. The victory blossomed again, and John allowed himself a grin.

"Fine," Sherlock said finally. "You may be right. My acting can only go so far, I need to study and do these things first hand."

John's eyes widened- sure, it was great that he had persuaded his usually stubborn, impossible flatmate into coming, but it wasn't usually that easy; not even _close_. Sherlock noticed John's confusion, and smiled.

"That, and only _you _have money right now. Without a cab, the trip home would take significantly longer than I would have preferred."

* * *

The cabbie pulled up outside the pub, and the two flatmates deftly stepped out, John paying for the ride and Sherlock scanning the place he had been taken to. It had a nice, rustic sort of look to it, and the sounds of some poor unfortunate attempting karaoke reached the consulting detective's ears. He had seen it before, of course- there was little in London he _hadn't _seen- but had never ventured inside, pegging it instantly as a complete waste of time.

John joined Sherlock in front of the entrance, and the two exchanged a glance; Sherlock's somehow sulky and inquisitive at the same time, John's hopeful and positive.

"Remember, Sherlock- do as we do. Got it?" The doctor grinned inwardly, numerous embarrassing and interesting scenarios already running through his mind.

Sherlock narrowed his eyes, giving a curt nod in reply.

"Yes John, I _am_ familiar with the rules of experimentation."

John smiled widely and, to his shock and horror, the detective mirrored his expression. _Perfectly. _Not in the 'he's-smiling-and-so-am-I-so-we-look-the-same' way, in the disturbing, 'if-I-squint-and-make-things-a-little-blurry-it's- like-I'm-looking-in-a-mirror' way. John was pretty sure his mouth had dropped slightly open, because Sherlock dropped the façade and gave the doctor an innocent, confused look, which would have fooled anyone _not _acquainted with the man.

John shook his head, and proceeded to shove his flatmate through the door. Sherlock started slightly at the light and noise surrounding him as they entered the crowded bar, staring with fascination and horror at the man 'singing' on the stage. He wondered, with a brief flash of panic, if _he _would be doing that at any point during the night.

"Yeah, you might," came John's voice from behind, as if he had noticed where Sherlock was looking and deduced what he was thinking. The detective experienced a strange feeling akin to pride scratch at the inside of his stomach, but it was decidedly ignored. Sherlock eyed the crown warily, noting several people whose faces were vaguely familiar; it seemed like half of Scotland Yard were here, in fact. Strange, perhaps they-

"John!"

The two men turned towards the barely-heard exclamation, to find Lestrade, Donovan and Anderson sitting around a small, wooden table, half-empty glasses already in front of them. Sherlock grinned at the sour expression Anderson and Donovan both acquired at the sight of him, while John started shoving his way through the crowd, motioning for the detective to follow.

Soon, the two had scavenged chairs from other tables and were seated at the same round table they had seen a moment ago. Sherlock had instantly departed, declaring rather than offering that he was going to get drinks for him and John, reminding the ex-soldier of a small child eager to please his parent.

"Are you insane," wailed Donovan, moments after Sherlock had left, interrupting John's train of thought. "What's the freak doing here?"

John frowned, a heavy feeling setting in his stomach- he found himself resenting it whenever somebody called the consulting detective that- it wasn't right; was he automatically labeled a 'freak' simply because of the way he thought, the way he spoke? Although god forbid John ever actually _act_ on his concern; he would never hear the end of it from Sherlock.

"I invited him," cut in Lestrade, saving John from having to mask his annoyance of Donovan.

The woman gave him a dirty look, at which the DI just shrugged. _Meh, how bad could it be, _his expression said. Then his eyes focused on something behind John's back, and the four sitting at the table turned to see Sherlock, drinks in hand, weaving his way carelessly through the mass of people. He 'smiled warmly' as he sat down, causing John to snicker and the eyes of the other occupants of the table to widen considerably. The doctor knew that Sherlock's every move, every flicker and expression was carefully calculated, yet it was still uncanny how the man could _act_ so... flawlessly. If his character was slightly more fitting, John thought, then the detective would have made a _brilliant _actor. He spared a moment to think about that, and hid a grin behind his beer.

* * *

At first, the evening was rather awkward. It put Donovan off, the freak listening to her and watching without once commenting, not even to call her an idiot. Quite the opposite, in fact; the freak laughed along with John, Lestrade and Anderson if she told a joke, and mimicked their sadness or joy when she spoke about her mother being sick or when her sister flew over to England as a surprise. It was almost... eerie.

But as the night progressed, those seated around the small, wooden table became more and more like parts of a well-oiled machine, taking turns joking, telling stories, getting drinks...

And every so often, Sherlock would glance over at John, observing his reactions intently and then creating his own, in tune with the doctor.

Of course, inevitably, the conversation steered towards the large, shameless topic of women. By now Donovan had left and was now seated across the bar from an attractive, well dressed man slightly older than her, and John could honestly say he knew what each party was saying even if he hadn't heard a word.

Lestrade proceeded to launch into a full-on rant about his ex-wife, at the same time as Anderson with his _current _wife. Sherlock and John exchanged looks, awkwardly deciding to sit this one out; they waited, for longer that was probably healthy, until the two had finally finished their ramblings, and Sherlock left once again to get the next round. John noticed that even though he had joined in on all the toasts, his flat mate's glass wasn't even _close _to empty yet, startling the ex-soldier, who, like everyone else, had at least two or three empty glasses already in front of him.

John watched as Sherlock ordered the beer, and started to make his way back, when he was stopped by a young (_very _young, John noted), attractive woman with a short, dazzling red dress and a head full of shining brunette curls. The doctor watched in fascination as Sherlock side stepped to get out of her way, only to have her step in front of him again. This happened several more times, much to John's (and Anderson's, and Lestrade's, who were also watching by now) amusement and frustration.

"He could probably get her number by saying nothing but 'hello', you know," John huffed. At the strange looks he got from around the table, he explained- "seriously, wherever this man goes, he gets a _disturbing _amount of attention from women_. _Do you know how bloody frustrating it is, watching him being all but _idolized,_ with his stupid billowing coat and his damn cheekbones, and him not even sparing a _glance _in return?"

Murmurs of sympathy followed, some even from beyond their table, John noticed.

Soon Sherlock returned, having finally shaken the girl by dropping the act for a few seconds and deducing exactly _why _she was here. John tutted as the detective sat down, receiving a frown in return. Suddenly, it was like a light went on in his mind- oh yes, this was brilliant. This was going to be spectacular. Especially because John's phone was video-enabled.

Karaoke.

The doctor remembered the instance when they had just entered, and only now had the idea; if _John, _or Anderson, or Lestrade, or even Sally (probably) went up on the stage and sang, then Sherlock would have no choice! He would _have _to do it as well, according to his _own _rules! John frowned. But it couldn't be _him _who started, otherwise Sherlock would get suspicious and/or annoyed, and neither of those was a very pleasant notion. The ex-soldier locked eyes with Lestrade, glancing up at the man _currently _on the stage, then questioningly back at Lestrade, hoping the DI was still sober enough to understand. He repeated this several times, and finally Lestrade seemed to get it, his eyebrows shooting upwards. But after a few seconds of contemplation, he shrugged, and stood up to make his way over to the stage, waiting patiently for the song to finish.

Sherlock noticed this, and glanced at John, frowning. John quickly nodded, as if to say- 'yes, this is perfectly normal, nothing to be suspicious of here'. Sherlock seemed to accept the fact, and turned back to look at Lestrade, who was already thumbing through the list of songs with a wide grin on his face. After finally picking one, he walked coolly to the microphone in the middle of the stage, and the first few notes rang out.

John quickly recognized the song, _Hotel California, _and smiled at the choice. Surprisingly enough, the inspector wasn't even that bad a singer, and a cluster of eager listeners had already formed at the foot of the stage.

When Lestrade had finished, the last chords of the song still fading away, the three seated at the table applauded along with the majority of the pub, and the DI even did a little mock-bow, getting a few laughs from the crowd. He jumped nimbly down to the floor, returning to the table. John congratulated the smiling man, and, no sooner than Lestrade had sat down, Sherlock stood up, moving towards the now empty stage. Anderson opened his mouth to say something, but John elbowed him in the side-

"No, let him. This is going to be _great,_" the doctor giggled, looking forward to seeing his usually exotic, pompous, you're-so-painfully-ordinary-and-I'm-_not _friend do something as mundane and 'fun' (at least by _most _people's standards) as sing bloody karaoke.

Oh, this was going to be good.

Actually, this would make great fuel for blackmailing, John thought as he watched Sherlock look over the list of songs, confusion and annoyance flashing over his admittedly refined features. After seemingly deciding on a song, Sherlock also made his way to the center of the stage, mimicking what Lestrade had done. Snickers and even full out laughter rose up from random parts of the room, undoubtably from the Yarders, most of whom encountered Sherlock on a regular basis. He glanced briefly down at John, frowning almost unnoticeably, and the doctor gave him a nod of encouragement, earning an odd look from Sally, who had just moved back to the table a few minutes ago.

John felt a bit of jealousy clawing at his stomach when he noticed that almost every female in the entire pub had already flocked to the stage, before Sherlock had even started singing, but quickly pushed it to aside; this was just ridiculous. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the song started.

And then Sherlock Holmes started singing.

_ Hope when you take that jump_

_You don't fear the fall_

John's jaw dropped.

_Hope when the water rises_

_You build a wall_

Everybody else who had ever... well, _met _the man, had much the same reaction. John even thought he heard a glass or two shattering somewhere.

_Hope when the crowd screams out_

_They're screaming your name_

_Hope if everybody runs_

_You choose to stay_

John tried to put his thoughts in order, enough to decide exactly _how _shocked he was. From what he was feeling right now, his guess was somewhere between coming home to see your two-year-old playing the Moonlight Sonata on the piano, and realizing that you don't even _own _a piano.

_Hope that you fall in love_

_And it hurts so bad_

_The only way you can know_

_Is give it all you have_

The doctor managed to tear his eyes away from Sherlock and glance around the room, taking in the shell-shocked Anderson and Donovan, Lestrade with eyes wide and eyebrows high, both at an almost comical level, the swooning women (and some men, too, if that wasn't enough) at the foot of the stage.

_And I hope that you don't suffer_

_But take the pain_

_Hope when the moment comes_

_You'll say..._

And then there was Sherlock.

_I-, I did it all_

_I-, I did it all_

_I owned every second_

_That this world could give_

_I saw so many places_

_The things that I did_

_Yeah, with every broken bone_

_I swear I lived_

At first, he had been more hesitant- not _that_ drastically, but noticeably. But now, he was... again, John had trouble putting together a coherent sentence, even in his thoughts. Sherlock's voice was... amazing. It was deep and warm, pleasantly so, but the higher notes were also hit perfectly. His voice playfully and confidently wove it's way through the lyrics; it was a strong song, full of energy, and John could almost _see _that energy radiating from his flatmate. It was _breathtaking. _

_Hope that you spend your days_

_But they all add up_

_And when that sun goes down_

_Hope you raise your cup_

John took a moment to smirk at the looks of all the Yarders, storing the image away for whenever they confronted him or Sherlock next.

_I wish that I could witness_

_All your joy and all your pain_

_But until my moment comes_

_I'll say..._

_I-, I did it all_

_I-, I did it all_

_I owned every second_

_That this world could give_

_I saw so many places_

_The things that I did_

_Yeah, with every broken bone_

_I swear I lived_

It was amazing seeing the little... flickers taking over Sherlock's face one after the other. A mischievous smile, a quirk of the eyebrow, exaggerated movements of the mouth, occasionally closed eyes; at some points, the detective's sharp orbs would become clouded and unfocussed, as if he was remembering something.

_Whoa_

_Whoa_

_Whoa_

_Oh_

_Oh_

_Yeah, with every broken bone_

_I swear I lived_

_Yeah, with every broken bone_

_I swear I lived_

_I-, I did it all_

_I-, I did it all_

_I owned every second_

_That this world could give_

_I saw so many places_

_The things that I did_

_Yeah, with every broken bone_

_I swear I lived. _

As the song came to a close (which John felt himself regretting), the entire room burst into a deafening roar of applause. Well, from those who didn't know the man who had just sung. Those who _did _know him were simply sitting in shocked silence.

Sherlock gracefully leapt off the stage, not making a sound as he landed, causing John's mind to rather abruptly spit out an image of a large black cat. The consulting detective smoothly approached the table, where a speechless John, Lestrade, Donovan and Anderson were still regarding him with wide eyes. Sherlock let a barely audible chuckle escape his lips, sitting down and stealing a glance at John.

* * *

It was almost midnight when the small group finally dispersed.

They had been sneaking glances at Sherlock for the remainder of the night, much to the man's amusement. Anderson was the first to go, rattling off something about his wife, before staggering away in the general direction of the door with one last wary look at Sherlock over his shoulder. Next were Donovan and Lestrade, because Sally was tired and wanted to go, and she had been driven in by Lestrade; the two took off not long after Anderson. Last to go were Sherlock and John, who finally hailed a cab (after a several failed attempts), and drove home, smiles still plastered on their faces for the entire ride home.

At the end of the night, the crowd had thinned out, only a few stragglers remaining. An old woman was singing slowly and sadly on the stage, and apart from her lonely voice, most of the life had left the place.

And nobody had noticed the well dressed, grinning man watching from a shadowed corner, chuckling softly and leaning on his umbrella.

* * *

**Thank you all for reading, I hope you enjoyed it! This is my first Sherlock fic, so it would be great if you could drop a review to tell me how I went. I know it's a bit out of character, but this plot bunny has been annoying me for ****_weeks _****now, and I just had to get it out there. I would recommend actually ****_listening_**** to the song when you get to the song bit, it's called I Lived by One Republic. Anyway, see ya soon, hopefully!**


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